


Through Flames

by Samuraisaucefrites



Category: DAI - Fandom, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Andrastianism (Dragon Age), Circle of Magi, Cute, Cute Kids, F/M, Fireside conversations, Fluff, Grey Warden Secrets, Grey Warden Stamina, Grey Wardens, Halamshiral (Dragon Age), Lake Calenhad (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar War (Dragon Age), Magic, Maybemaybemaybe, Multi, No rite wine here, Orlesian Grey Wardens, Ostwick Circle (Dragon Age), Other, Red Lyrium, Steamy, Templars, Templars (Dragon Age), The Harrowing (Dragon Age), The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Warden Lore, Who even knows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samuraisaucefrites/pseuds/Samuraisaucefrites
Summary: Inquisitor Niloofar Trevelyan and Warden Carver Hawke share experiences and get to know each other better.When Marian Hawke and Inquisitor Niloofar go to meet her Warden contact, Stroud, they discover he has Marian’s brother, Carver is with him.Refusing to let his sister take all of the weight of a family problem, Carver convinced Aveline to let him help his sister rid the world of Corypheus.
Relationships: Carver Hawke/Female Inquisitor, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Mage(s)/Templar(s) (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Hinterlands Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herald Niloofar copes with loneliness in a new environment.

Niloofar Trevelyan huddled in her waxed canvas tent conjuring a warm glow of fire in her hands to ward off the damp cold of night. Two weeks in the Hinterlands stole any curiosity she had left of the cold south as she closed her eyes trying to remember the warm nights of Ostwick.

Extinguishing the flame with a wave of her hand she tugged at the tent flap to peer into the velvet black curtain of night. No stars, just the howl of wind whipping through the valley and the percussive symphony of the deluge.

She fell back against the wool stuffed sleeping mat looking up at the tent seams counting the stitches. She wanted to sleep, but the anchor itched. The anchor was irritating in a way which scratching could never satisfy, she left like the agitation was beyond her, like the sensation was like in a dream after waking.

Restless, she reached into her pack and withdrew parchment and quill. Staring at the smooth paper, wondering how to begin.

Years had gone since she last had seen her cousins in Ostwick. They visited her in the Circle in the early years after she was sent, helping ease the transition from child to teen, but Madame Trevelyan was a devout woman and kept her children wary of Niloofar since her magic manifested.

For a glimmer of a second, Niloofar wondered what her parents would have thought of all this, a war between Mages and Templars, the chantry explosion, her coming into her magic a decade and a half before. She wondered if they would approve of her running around the southern continent in the company of apostates, a Seeker and the most famous dwarven author from the Free Marches. Realizing her attempts to imagine futile at best, she began to write her favorite cousin, Elias.

“Dearest Cousin,

I’m finally seeing the beautiful Hinterlands of Ferelden. The combination of jagged hilltops and lush valleys is beautiful. Unfortunately, it’s as beautiful as it is cold. How are your siblings and parents? Is your lovely wife, Hestia well? Are you parents three times over yet?

It’s been a long few weeks, I’m honestly not sure what to make of everything which has transpired. I received news Ser Willem was a casualty of the war, I had hoped he would have stayed in Ostwick, kept out of the conflict. I guess that’s the cost of oaths. The only oath I’ve ever had to swear was to never allow a demon to take my mind and always follow the Chant. I know he was your friend as well as mine, I thought it best you heard the news from family.

People call me a new title now, and it’s strange. I worry I’m dishonoring your mother by allowing myself to be called The Harold. I’ve always felt like the Chant of Light was something far from me, and now I’m here in the middle of people debating who is the real Chantry. I don’t know what to tell them.

I will continue to do the best of my abilities to bring peace to the region, much like how I would try to end familial arguments. Except these disputes are ended with hostilities instead of song and dance.

I wish to be out of the cold soon and back in the Marches. I miss the familiarity of home.

With love,  
Niloo”

In four folds, she hid the letter into her satchel, telling herself a reminder to hand it off in the morning. Morning couldn’t come soon enough, but the blanket of night was unrelenting. She resumed counting stitches in the tent waiting for dawn.


	2. Meet the Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Niloofar Trevelyan, Varric, Cassandra, Dorian and Iron Bull meet with Marian Hawke in Crestwood

“Inquisitor! I just arrived myself, my contact is inside the cave, this way.” Marian Hawke, a tall, strong woman of snowy complexion, strong jaw, onyx hair, wore her staff strapped to her back, waved her hand as she led the way. She was statuesque, something about her countenance and posture reminded Niloofar of sculptures of Andraste. It softened the fatigue which had set in after fighting their way through the canyon of Red Templars. 

Niloofar looked over her shoulder at her companions, Varric hustled forward to embrace Hawke. When they separated, Hawke brushed herself off, the mud of Crestwood caked on their pants and boots. Niloofar was certain she appeared more akin to a wet druffalo than the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste. 

The hot sun felt like a mockery after the storm they had endured during the weeks of their stay near the village. From taking bandit fortresses, to armies of the dead in caves, Niloofar was counting the days until she could return to Skyhold, a fortress newly christened for the Inquisition. Despite her travels, enduring day after day of rains instilled a sense of restlessness inside her. This outdoors lifestyle she found herself in was still a struggle, she kept her suffering to herself though to ensure no one was aware. Despite her readiness to return to the fortress, a soft buzz of excitement kept her going.

Marian Hawke represented the Free Mage, who could be accepted by everyone. She was brave and open with her magic, untouchable because she was a hero. Niloofar’s cousin sent her The Tale of the Champion and every issue of Hard in Hightown when they were first published. She devoured the sagas of the hard boiled detective and Hawke’s adventures. The stories provided a needed respite from her confined life to the Circle. In Niloofar’s nightly dreams, she would be fighting by Hawke’s side or walking the dirty streets or Lowtown, feeling the sun on her bare skin and the wind in her hair. The Tale kept her company after the death of her closest friend.

“Let’s see this Warden ally of yours.” Cassandra announced while Dorian and Iron Bull nodded.

“The sooner this is handled the sooner we can make camp and break into that mead we found in the keep,” Iron bull added, Niloofar began to suspect for the first time she wasn’t the only one who was worn from the saga of Crestwood.

Hawke guided the companions deep into the cave, no chatter or conversation, and after a few turns, Niloofar took point, illuminating the way with a glow of flame in her palm. A dozen meters more they descended, when suddenly Niloofar found herself in the darkness with a blade pointed at her chest.

“Stroud! It’s us!” Hawke jogged forward, the man in blue and silver plate armor withdrew his weapon, while Hawke illuminated the hideaway with a glowing crystal fixed to the top of her staff. 

Niloofar stumbled back, tripping over a glowing growth of deep mushrooms and almost fell to the ground, but was caught by someone’s hands and pushed back to her feet with a gentle push.

“Watch your step, lady…” a male voice with a strong Ferelden accent said from behind her. 

Niloofar spun around, forced to lift her gaze to see the tall Fereldan man who wore the same armor as Stroud, but had the same coloring and strong jaw as Marian Hawke.

“Andraste’s tit’s Carver?! I told Aveline to get you somewhere safe!” Hawke scolded him in one breath and then barreled toward her younger sibling and embraced him in a hug in the next. The warden returned the gesture with a light pat on Hawke’s back, and a wincing smile.

Niloofar’s eyes widened as she now recognized the man to be Hawke’s brother from The Tale. The one who caught the Blight in the Deep Roads, and became a Warden to survive. 

“Carver and I decided because Corypheus is a Warden problem, it was best I didn’t offer my assistance alone,” Stroud explained. “Especially since he is the last Warden to see the Darkspawn killed.”

“Junior, still not listening to orders, eh?” Varric asked as he leaned against a cave wall. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Still riding the coattails of others’ greatness?” Carver retorted. Nilloofar’s gaze darted around the room, struggling to keep up. The whole moment began to feel as if it was ripped from the pages of one of Varric’s manuscripts. 

Carver and Varric clasped hands in a shake. Niloofar couldn’t help but smile, the reunion was a joyous sight to be seen. Carver’s attention zeroed in on Niloofar after greeting the dwarf and stepped a foot behind him, extending his hand toward her, she placed her right hand in his, as with the custom for nobility. He took her hand in a gentle touch and folded in a quick bow.

“Warden Carver Hawke at your service, my lady,” he said as he introduced himself directly to Niloofar. 

“Great. Brother, this is the Inquisitor Niloofar Trevelyan. Now you’ve met. Stroud?” Marian disrupted her brother’s gesture. Niloofar didn’t enjoy having extra attention showered her way but there was something about the way Carver took her hand which made her feel strangely seen.

Stroud took point as he paced while describing The False calling, commander Clarel’s orders and the disappearance of the rest of the order. Marian Hawke chimed in with the things she knew from her own research. 

“Then it’s decided, you all must return with us to Skyhold so we can prepare our forces to go to the Western Approach.” Cassandra’s voice cut through the conversation. “If that is acceptable, Inquisitor?” 

Everyone turned to look at Niloofar, she nodded, cleared her throat. “Of course, welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Jean- Luc Stroud, and Warden Carver Hawke,” She dipped her head in reverence. Whenever she felt uncomfortable, she slipped into an over use of formality, a habit she learned from growing up in her cousin’s household. 

“Thank you, it is good to be among allies,” Stroud said. 

+++++

Hours later at camp, the companions gathered around the warm glow of fire. Iron Bull saw to roasting the rogue druffalo which became dinner, while Dorian stood by judging the qunari’s process. Cassandra, Varric, the Hawke siblings and Stroud surrounded the other side of the fire, Niloofar split the distance between the two groups, listening and observing the conversations. 

“So, how did Aveline take the news you weren’t going with her? I specifically instructed her to use force if necessary.” Marian’s tone was a mix of concern and scolding. 

“I was beside you in the Deep Roads, when Kirkwall was invaded by Qunari, and when you fought Meredith, you might be the Champion, but you’ve needed me every step of the way. If I didn’t come,” He looked up at the sky exasperated as if pained to continue, “and you died? How am I going to explain that to Mother when I finally go?”

Stroud, who sat between the siblings, removed himself in an effort to refill his beverage and sat down beside Niloofar.

“Okay, first of all, you were barely around for the Qunari invasion. You came in, “Hi Sister, looks like you’re in a jam, gotta go!” Marian ranted, she gesticulated with wild thrusts, her hands communicating as much as her words.

“You were lucky we showed up at all, it’s just like you to complain. You’re lucky we were passing by.” Carver popped open the cork on his wine sack and upended the contents into his mouth.

A moment of silence elapsed. Stroud and Nilofaar exchanged glances before Marian blurted out, “I’ve missed you, brother.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Carver’s stone faced expression cracked with a grin. “Being an apostate on the run from an expected Exalted March looks good on you.” 

The siblings continued to trade barbs while the air filled the aroma of the roasting druffalo leg. Iron Bull whispered something to Dorian which made him laugh. There was a certain familial calm about the evening, which reminded Niloofar of life with her cousins. A little pang behind her breast bone ached. She missed Elias, her older cousin who was like an older brother to her. 

“It’s these calm moments, these in between times which we must savor, Inquisitor,” Stroud said in a low voice. 

“There’s so many rifts to close, I feel as if I am an ant moving one grain of sand at a time in an effort to move a beach,” Niloofar divulged as she watched the Hawke siblings. Their mix of animosity and love brought her cousins to mind, how they would fight and play together. 

“You grace, I have much to discuss with Marian, and Marian insists we return to Skyhold at once. We have much to learn about the situation with my order, maybe it would be best to split into two groups?” Stroud posited the idea. 

Niloofar paused as she considered the proposal, “It would give me time to take the long way around Calenhad, sealing as many rifts as possible, and I have to go south to free some of my soldiers who were taken by the Avaar.” Niloofar replied, she liked the idea of having the freedom to do more, but disliked the thought of an extra month on the road. She knew she was the only one who could stop hoards of demons spilling from the rifts. 

“You have to dance with the Avaar?” Stroud lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Then we should divide the siblings. There’s still Darkspawn in the south, you will need a Warden with you. Carver should accompany you, he is one of the best warriors I have had the honor to fight beside. He will ensure your safety, your Worship.”

Niloofar looked at the giant of a man across from the fire, his serious expression rested until their eyes met and shared a smile before he looked away to keep conversing with his sister and the dwarf. 

“I should ask him if he wishes to join me, then.” She decided and traversed to the other side of the fire. 

“Ser, Carver Hawke?” Niloofar cleared her throat as she spoke. 

Carver turned to face the Inquisitor, looking up at her with attentive eyes. Niloofar felt as if they stared right into her soul. “Yes, lady?” 

“I will not be returning to Skyhold immediately, as I need to seal rifts along the lake and deal with the Avaar warriors who have taken my soldiers in the south, would you be interested in accompanying—“

“Yes.” Carver cut her off, “it would be an honor to travel with you.” A flash of panic came across his face. “With the Inquisition.”

“Smooth, Junior.” Varric whispered loud enough to be audible. 

“Then it is settled, tomorrow we shall divide our efforts into two groups. We will meet again in Skyhold and begin our efforts to get to the Western Approach after.” Niloofar announced and took a seat between the siblings. The night turned into a true celebration, all knowing their perspective paths would take them in separate directions for a time.


	3. Lake Calenhad by Firelight

“Dearest Cousin,

If you’ve sent word, I’ve not been in Skyhold to receive it. I’m sure you’ve heard much about me which might be unfavorable but I request you believe nothing you hear and only half of what you see--”

“Are you really trying to write a letter?” The Warden Carver Hawke interrupted the Inquisitor Nilofaar Trevelyan’s efforts.

Hawke, Stroud, Dorian, And Bull returned to Skyhold, while Varric, Cassandra, Carver and Niloofar took a longer route back. The former party took the short road around Lake Calenhad while the latter walked the longer road around the lake so Niloogar could close as many rifts as possible along the way.

It was the first night without rain in weeks as they camped along the lakeside, the two moons, Satina and Umbras glittered in columns of light across the surface of the lake. Cassandra reserved herself for last watch, and retreated to her tent early. Varric retreated to his tent not long after, and Niloofar assumed Carver had dozed off after dinner. When she was engrossed in her letter, he startled her with his question.

“Well, yes, I was trying,” Niloofar replied, her hand emitted a glow of heat, drying the ink before rolling up the parchment and placing it in her pack.

Carver rose from his reclined position by the fire taking a seat closer to the Inquisitor, bringing the last of dinner’s mead with him in a stein. They hadn’t spoken much aside from professional conversations. He offered her a drink from his cup, she took a sip and handed it back to him.

“You remind me of someone.” He paused, “Tomorrow we’ll be passing Lothering, that’s the town I was raised in, you know before the blight,” Carver began. He placed a hand out feeling the warmth of the magical flame. “You’re really in control of your magic, my sisters though incredible, they were never so comfortable in their powers they could be so casual with it. Or maybe because they were apostates they never felt free enough to try…”

“With my cousins’ help I hid my magic for a whole year, but one day it wasn’t possible anymore and I was sent to the Ostwick Circle. It was a source of contention between my aunt and uncle and me. I picked fire magic because I felt like it was as close to Andraste as I could get. Fire brought her to the Maker, and I guessed maybe if it was my focus I could get my family to like me again. They’re devout.” Niloofar explained. Her eyes broke from staring at the moons and glanced to the man beside her. She noticed his eyes were Ostwick sky blue.

“What is it about Free Marcher nobility and their obsession with The Chantry?” He smirked, emphasizing the dimples on each side of his cheeks and the third in his chin. “I know the Prince of Starkhaven, he’s as devout as they come. It was a struggle with my sister, they’re friends. I haven’t seen him in years, when you become a Warden you’re not afforded opportunities to visit family.”

“It’s not so different from being sent to Circle then?” Niloofar asked.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about hearing The Song.” Carver’s warmth cooled as she noticed the lines of stress pull at the corners of his eyes.

“How do you manage? Is it driving you mad?” She asked, trying to imagine if the Calling felt as annoying as the constant Fade side itch of the anchor, being tied to a force which was unreachable, untouchable, and always present.

He rolled his large shoulders forward, resting his elbows on his knees releasing a long sigh, as if burdens of years were finally being aired. “Honestly? It’s exhausting, when I’m fighting, or talking, it’s not so bad, but it makes trying to sleep difficult, that’s when it’s the loudest.”

The flash of an idea hit Niloofar and she brought her anchored left hand up to the side of his face, “Does this affect it?”

He leaned back, taking her hand into his and pressed the green glowing palm to the side of his head. She could feel the heat of her cheeks against the rough grain of his stubbled face and soft tuft of black hair against her palm and fingertips. She swallowed a grin feeling the muscles in his face and jaw smile.

“It does,” he continued to hold her hand to his face, “There’s only the sound of crackling logs or the buzz of electricity, the Song can’t compete with you-- with pure Fade energy, that is.”

At a loss for words, she could only hide a smile, a blooming of heat in her person she looked away to hide her smile.

“Sorry, I should give you your hand back, it’s just so nice to have a break from it.” He removed her hand with his, running his thumb over her anchor before she slowly brought it back around, as he was on her right side.

“I’m happy to provide some relief for your suffering,” Niloofar replied. She could feel his eyes upon her, which accelerated the beating of her heart. Touching the Anchor sent chills down her spine, she swallowed hard in an attempt to center herself.

In an attempt to change the subject she began, “So Varric tells me you were once at odds with your sister, you two fought a lot. I believe his exact words were, ‘Junior was a salty hellion in Kirkwall and it drove Hawke crazy.’ It must have been difficult to have to leave somewhere as calm as this for the excitement of Kirkwall.”

Carver stifled a laugh, trying to not wake their sleeping friend. “It’s true, I was terrible. Becoming a Warden has been one of the best things which could’ve happened to me. My sister saved my life, despite how hard I was on her. Stroud taught me to become a man. I was very young when I was...young. My life has purpose and meaning now, it’s more than making money and spending it at the Blooming Rose.”

“Is that a tavern in Kirkwall?” She questioned, happy to get the focus off herself. There was a warmth and sturdiness to Carver she found comforting in his presence, as if he was rooted to the center of Thedas down past the Deep Roads. She wondered if it was because he was a Warden.

His eyes widened and cheeks flushed a ruddy color, it was noticeable against his fair skin even in the moonlight. She was thankful her own terracotta complexion hid her own embarrassment most of the time.

“Yeah, just a tavern. You really didn’t get out much before Anders destroyed the world, did you?” He scooched a few inches closer to her, and therefore the warming flame she brought, placing his hands above it to thaw his own fingers.

She shook her head, “I lived a very small life before the Chantry explosion and the war. I miss the Marches, I miss the routine of the Circle, though I don’t miss being under constant scrutiny from the Templars. Now, I face another kind of persistent surveillance. I just wish it wasn’t so cold down here. I feel as if I might never truly feel my toes again.”

They shared smiles again, their gazes lined up for a few seconds. She noticed the muscular slope of his neck and shoulders, tracing the line with her eyes down his arms to his large, battle scarred hands. He didn’t seem fazed by the cold in only his tunic and trousers, she guessed it was a benefit to being a Warden, or being from Ferelden. She pulled the edges of her cloak around her in the response to an involuntary shiver.

“So, did you leave anyone behind in Ostwick, or at your castle in Skyhold? I can’t believe you found a castle in the mountains and just took it. Nobility really do have a different luck, don’t they?” He chuckled as the last comment seemed more for himself than her.  
She shook her head, “I left all my family in Ostwick, well my cousins. I have no siblings and my parents died when I was a baby, I didn’t have many friends in the Circle…” She didn’t continue as she noticed Carver grin, shaking his head.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Carver replied in a gentle tone.

“Oh, did you mean a suitor? Mages aren’t eligible for formal courtship. I was promised to another Ostwick lord’s son, but the arrangement was dissolved when I was sent to a Circle.” She fidgeted her fingers, she felt vulnerable and unsteady in the conversation.

He nodded in response. “You’re cold,” he observed. He moved next to her and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leaned in flipping the edge of her cape around them both.

“You should rest before your watch,” she advised, though she wasn’t ready for the moment to end. 

“When you’re a Warden, this is resting.”


	4. The Vote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While trekking around Lake Calenhad, Niloofar Trevelyan sees a broken Templar shield, reminding her of fleeing the Ostwick Circle.

Tension was palpable in the Free Marcher Circle after the announcement the Circle of Magi had voted to dissolve. Weeks passed and First Enchanter Lydia refused to call a vote for rebellion, only succumbing to pressure after being lured to a private meeting of enchanters. The heavy oak door was barred and locked, without a Templar to be seen. 

“First Enchanter, you cannot postpone this any longer. The time has come, we must vote.” Wilford announced, an enchanter who was known for his disruptive behavior. His head was recently shaved, and wore a chestplate over his robes. It was clear he was prepared for conflict.

“The rest of our kind goes free, while you require your charges to remain caged? They made Alodet tranquil this week because he refused to attend Chantry service. How many years of indignities must we endure?” Senior Enchanter Eugenia stepped forward from the ring of mages. She was ancient as she was mighty, it was often thought Eugenia should have been made First Enchanter, but was never copacetic with the Templars. 

“Wilford, Eugenia, understand my position, we’re not the same as other Circles. We have never had the blood magic epidemic like Kirkwall, we’re safe inside these walls. We must stay united here. You don’t know how bad it is out there for us. You’ve lived here all your life.” First Enchanter Lydia protested, stepping behind herself to convey her message to those who surrounded her. 

Niloofar Trevelyan stood at the back of the crowd, across her back was a sack sewn from her bedding and filled it with the few precious belongings she owned, plus a few food items she hoped would keep. Her heavy cloak concealed her and her belongings felt hot, but she didn’t want to key anyone into her plans to leave the Circle, no matter the vote’s outcome. 

The mages encircling the First Enchanter grew more vocal in their debate, a contingent of about ten mages lined up behind Lydia, declaring their support for the Loyalist cause. The cacophony grew in volume and fervor, making Niloofar feel uneasy. 

Her eyes darted around the chamber, the top of the tower flew in the face of any literature on strategy and tactics she read. There was only one way in or out of the room, and that was down the single staircase to the floor below, which at least contained routes through the building for servicing. She knew every passage in the structure as if she had built it. Her early years at the Circle were fraught with exploration. 

“If you vote to rebel, do you truly believe the Templars behind that door will let you go? We must work with them to gain freedom, not steal the opportunity for cooperation!” Lydia’s voice cut through the din. Silence swept across the room. Wilford approached the First Enchanter and put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s unfortunate that’s how you feel. Now,” Wilford’s voice boomed, “Aye for vote for Dissolving of the Circle!”

A choir of “Ayes” reverberated off the stone walls. 

“Nay for Loyalists.” Wilford announced.

Lydia and those who stood beside her shouted their resounding “Nays” but their numbers were far fewer than those who wanted to end the Circle. 

“The vote has been decided. We are prisoners to the Chantry no more!” Wilford cried out, cheers from the majority sounded. 

“You mustn’t do this!” The First Enchanter cried out, a wild terror colored her voice, and a freezing chill emanated from her direction. 

Before anyone could move, the enchanter, Wilford produced a dagger from his belt and dove it into Lydia’s chest. The freeze withdrew, and soon after she was engulfed in flames as a Pride demon took control of her person. 

“As I command!” Wilford howled, sending the demon to attack the dissenting mages. 

Flashes of light, flame, lighting, ice and energy shot about the tower as the skirmish escalated into an encompassing battle. Niloofar grabbed the hands of the mages to the left and right of her and ushered them to the door. 

A pair of demons charged at Niloofar, in a panic, she disintegrated the metal rod locking the oak door and burst through. 

Tumbling to the cold stone floor, she saw the metallic shine of armored boots by her face, the Templars ignored her, stepping over her body, charging into the Harrowing chamber behind her. 

Pushing herself back to her feet, Niloofar helped the two mages she saved from the battle and waved for them to follow her. 

She lead them to a tiny closet, there, they held their breath waiting for a group of Templars to pass. Once clear, she peeked through a crack and ushered the mages to the potions store room. 

“Help me push!” Niloofar urged the others as she struggled to move a chest away from the wall. The male mage rushes to her aid, with a coordinated effort they moved the chest revealing a small wooden panel in the floor. 

Niloofar lifted the panel and pointed at the ladder, the mages descended to the floor below. Niloofar whispered a prayer to the Maker for their safety.

The ladder led down to a forgotten store room, Niloofar heard a rustling, with her staff in hand she illuminated the room revealing five mages no older than twelve huddled together. She immediately extinguished the light.

“I’m going to get us out of here, follow me.” Niloofar promised, hoping the Maker would not make her a liar. 

Clattering metal, hissing spells, the roar of flames and cries of battle sounded from every corner of the tower. Niloofar led the clandestine parade, a few like minded mages helped her in guarding the weak and young. After moving from hidden place to hidden place they finally reached the kitchen, which had a door to the stables they could use to leave the tower. 

The other mage opened the door and ushered the children outside, as the echoed footsteps of armored feet approached. Niloofar placed herself between the remaining mages and whoever was coming and summoned energies around her in preparation to fight.

The Templar burst through the door, his sword raised and shield held blocking his face. His armor was spattered with the red of blood and black scorch marks. The blade itself, dull and crimson from the bodies it had invaded. She could see him preparing to block her magic, but then he stopped and stood there, as if unsure of what to do. He raised the faceplate of his helmet, revealing the handsome, square face of Ser Theodore. She lowered her staff and the two stared at each other in a moment of stalemate. 

In a flash, the memories they shared together, the secreted letters, the flowers, the hidden rooms where they could be alone, flooded her mind. Lastly, the memory which ended their affair, Aura’s failed Harrowing, and Theo’s sword ending her friend’s life after she succumbed to the demon. 

Niloofar mouthed the word, “please” to Ser Theodore, a last appeal you his humanity, and the intimacy and trust they once shared. 

He nodded his head, an almost imperceptible movement. He looked behind him and called out, “All clear!” Glancing back at Niloofar he mouthed a single word, “Go” before leaving the kitchen and returning to his hunt. 

In a rush, Niloofar pushed her group of mages outside the tower and into the nearby woods, hoping the safety she believed was waiting for them at their destination wasn’t false. 

+++++++

“Niloofar? My lady are you all right?” The Warden Carver asked the Inquisitor as she stood over a broken Templar shield wreathed by the red and gold autumn leaves. 

“Junior, I think it’s going to be a while before she sees dead Templars and it doesn’t matter.” Varric cautioned. 

Niloofar knelt down and brushed her hand against cool metal of the shield, lifting it revealing a leather satchel filled with unsent letters in the death grip of the dead Templar, deceased for a few days. Cassandra rushed to her side, taking the satchel into her hands.

“Did you know this one?” Cassandra asked and Niloofar shook her head. 

“Why is freedom such a threat that it requires an entire world of violence to prevent it? How many lives does all of this have to cost? There must be another way, Maker, we must do better.” Niloofar spoke with her eyes glittering with welling tears. 

The foursome continued on their journey around Lake Calenhad together, the entrance to Orzammar only days away. 

“Sometimes the past just comes at you at once, and it’s hard to be here in the present after. Take your time, it’s something Stroud taught me,” Carver offered as they marched on. Niloofar only responded with a smile, grateful to be surrounded by those who understood. 

  
  
  



	5. Auberge des Montagnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the inn, Auberge des Montagnes, in Jader Inquisitor Niloofar, Cassandra, Varric and Carver Hawke stop for the night before heading into the mountains.

The Auberge des Montagnes, a humble chalet style tavern nestled toward the edge of the Orlesian city of Jader, bustled with the rush of business, as it was the last stop on the path to Skyhold. 

Varric, despite his short stature, staked a claim at a back table and negotiated rooms for the night. Cassandra didn’t approve of the decision, as it put the Inquisitor in too much danger being in a crowd. Niloofar Trevelyan was ready to sleep in a bed and draw a bath, since it would be another few days before they reached Skyhold, which was now home. Carver Hawke, with a Warden’s appetite, also voted for a night in a tavern and promised to be on constant guard for Niloofar’s safety. 

Hungry, the foursome devoured their meals and ale without so much of an idle conversation, all road weary, except for the Warden.

“I can see we’re all a bunch of chattering ninnies tonight,” Varric said, growing bored of the silence. 

“I’m still upset with you about Hawke,” Cassandra snapped at the dwarf. This conversation was repeated once a day since Crestwood. 

“I’m right here, Seeker.” Carver sighed and waved a hand to get the frazzled barmaid’s attention. 

“I’m not talking about you, ugh. You know what I mean.” Cassandra protested leaning back in her chair. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough already?”

Varric and Carver exchanged glances and grinned, an unspoken dialogue between old friends. 

“Why yes, Junior. I do keep a deck with me at all times.” Varric reached into one of his leather pouches revealing his well worn deck of Wicked Grace cards. 

The barmaid, finally seeing Carver’s wave, rushed over, accidentally bumping into the table causing the mug beside Niloofar to tip over, spilling its contents on the Inquisitor. 

“Pardonne-moi, madam! Let me get a, quel est le mot?” She pouted for a moment, struggling with finding the common words. She was an attractive woman, copper red hair in two thick braids, dimpled cheeks, forgiving blue eyes, and a figure which filled out her bodice and gown like a model for a beautiful painting. She was obviously used to interacting with her male patrons, as she offered her apology she said it to Carver and Varric. 

“Ce n'est pas un problème,” Niloofar replied, without thinking she raised her right hand, emitting a soft red glow as she dried herself. 

The barmaid stumbled back in a gasp, “I will return, right away, with more ale!” A wash of horror flashed across her face before retreating to the counter. 

Before anyone else could see the source of what startled the maid, Carver grabbed Niloofar’s hand and placed it on her lap. He turned to the Inquisitor and whispered, “what are you doing?”

A shock of horror hit Niloofar, she was so used to being in Circle towers and on the road with the Inquisition, she forgot how the world saw magic, and those with the ability to wield it. Her face grew hot, her cheeks grew ruddy against her usual russet complexion from embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me…” Niloofar stuttered. 

“It’s okay, Kindling,” Varric used the new diminutive be coined for Niloofar, “Junior, could you go smooth this over?”

Without acknowledging Varric's request, Carver stepped away from the table, his Warden armor clanked as he approached the bar. Niloofar watched with unblinking eyes. Towering over the tables, the warden had a stature which made most men feel vulnerable. The patrons inched their seats toward the table to make room for the man as he navigated the packed floor.

Carver rested his elbows on the bar top and began conversing with the barmaid. A few seconds into the conversation, Niloofar could see the young woman blush and giggle. The maid pushed at his shoulder in a playful gesture.

Niloofar knew Varric and Cassandra we’re speaking, but she didn’t hear a word they said, as she was consumed by the feeling of sinking in her chest as she looked on at the scene. Suddenly, she felt self conscious about everything about herself, from her darker skin of northern families, shoulder length black hair which needed washing (and not long enough for pretty styles most women wore), her athletic build, vacant of plump excess which was the subject of bawdy tunes and virtuous odes for beauty, to her strong nose, unlike the cute button noses of Ferelden and Orlesian women. She knew Carver’s crooked grin looking back at the maid, his blue eyes which were deep like blue tide pools along the coast, his clumsy graciousness, of _course_ the maid looked at him with sparkling eyes and smile. She realized she didn’t wish she was that woman, but wanted to be where that woman was. Knowing her feelings were a streak of jealousy, she felt ugly and ashamed. And yet, she couldn’t look away. 

“Kindling? kindling? NILOO!” Varric raised his voice, having been trying to nab her attention after a few minutes of failing. In a whiplash, she snapped to snap back to reality.

“Sorry, yes, Varric?” Niloofar returned to the present, leaving her cascade of self doubt hanging in the air. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, which wouldn’t be the weirdest thing you’ve seen in the last few months…” Varric rambled, his voice was immediately drowned by the din as she looked back at the bar and saw Carver and the maid still talking, she was now outright laughing. He _did_ have good jokes, and Niloo wasn’t able to hear any of it. 

“Niloofar, are you alright?” Cassandra reaches across the table and touched her hand.

Niloofar felt her soul return to her body in another hit of reality. “This ale is stronger than what we consumed on the road, it’s a little warm in here, excuse me.” She rose to her feet and grabbed her cloak and ducked outside to the newly fallen snow. She frowned, feeling it was criminal for there to be snow this early in the season. 

Cassandra moved to follow the Inquisitor outside, but the dwarf called out the Seeker’s name to get her attention and shook his head at her.

Outside Niloofar paced, she pulled her heavy woolen cloak around her person. “Maker’s breath, Niloo, get a hold of yourself!” She scolded herself for losing her calm. The sharp stinging sensation from her eyes welling up with tears made her frustration boil.

“You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman, and the world is falling apart, so you don’t get to. They need you to be strong. You had a crush, just like a dumb teenager. We’ve been through this before, you’re a mage, nothing good comes from entanglements.” She whispered a harsh reminder to herself. 

She leaned up against the exterior wooden wall of the inn, looking up at the icy peaks in the distance. Trying to think of anything other than Carver Hawke, all she managed to conjure in her mind, was Carver Hawke. 

The night they sat on the banks of Lake Calenhad and shared a glass of mead, how he took her hand when they met, she looked into his eyes and swore he gazed into the depths of her soul, how he was at her side for every misstep and stumble, the laughing and stories by the campfire they shared almost nightly after Cassandra and Varric went to sleep, these memories repeated on a loop in her mind. 

“He’s a Grey Warden, he’s married to the order, he was just being polite, you’re the Inquisitor, for Andraste’s Sake.” She sighed, “Andraste help me.”

Using the back of her hand, she wiped the tears from her face. The drops sizzled as they touched her skin, fire magic heated her as a response to her distress. She swallowed hard, and adjusted her leather armor doublet and decided it was time to go to the quarters she was going to share with Cassandra early and have a bath while she could have a modicum of privacy. 

Reaching for the door handle, the door swung open as someone from behind pushed through. Niloofar, lost in her thoughts, and her peripheral vision obscured by the hood of her cloak, walked right into the metal chest plate of the man in the door. Startled, she shot up a glance seeing, a shock of surprise bloomed through her, a lightning bolt finding ground. 

“Carver?” She staggered backwards, allowing him room to pass.

“I got us more ale, on the house! Varric is dealing, let’s teach you Wicked Grace,” Carver said. He gestured with his head to the door as he touched her shoulder. 

“Maybe another time, I think I should go grab a bath while I can have the room to myself, and-“

He leaned down and looked her in the eyes, “Niloo, what’s wrong? Have you been… crying?”

“Really it’s okay! It’s been a long few weeks.” Niloofar fumbled in an attempt to explain away her bloodshot eyes and ruddy cheeks. 

Carver lowered his obsidian eyebrows in a serious expression, “Is it because of how that woman reacted to you?”

She shook her head, refuting the question, except there was truth in it. With a gentle touch on her shoulder, the warden brought the Inquisitor away from the door. 

“My father was an apostate, my twin and older sister were...are too. I spent so much time being jealous of them, and the attention dad gave them, it took me a long time to see their struggles. One day, I saw my twin scare a little girl in town because she tried to use healing magic on her twisted ankle, and then we had to move again because Templars came looking for us. After we moved to Kirkwall, Marian was so frustrating, she didn’t try to hide it, at all, but in a city of chaos, she transformed the chaos into opportunity. I never appreciated how, despite being an apostate, she pulled our family out of poverty, so Mom could be a noble woman again. I’ll never forget the faces of those who feared my sisters. I see it still when I’m around the warden mages, everyone distrusts them. I’ve never been afraid of mages, but I saw what unchecked blood magic can do. Most mages aren’t the rebels of Kirkwall, but unfortunately, stories like Varric’s Tale don’t help, just makes everyone see mages as something else.”

“It sells books, keeps Varric in coin, ale, and bolts.” Niloofar rationalized.

“Aren’t you concerned about how he’s going to tell your story?” Carver asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No, they’re his stories, he can tell what he likes…” She looked down at their feet as she could feel her heartbeat quicken. “Carver, I’m no stranger to people treating mages like the blight, forgive the expression. I wasn’t upset about how she reacted to me. It was how she behaved with you.”

Carver’s face contorted in a puzzled expression then his eyes widened as he processed what she said. “Inquisitor…”

The fire inside her turned to ash with one word from him, he hadn’t called her by her formal title once since they met. She knew it meant he really did see her as this separate holy figure and not a mortal woman. She misjudged him all along. To hide her cascade of feelings, she straightened her spine and smiled.

“Maker, I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one evening, forgive me,” she said, in an attempt to brush off her wounded ego and pivoting to retreat inside the inn. 

“Niloofar, wait!” Carver exclaimed, grabbing her left hand as she stepped toward the door, she looked back to him, confusion bit like a current through her person.

In a single movement, Carver pulled her into him, placing a hand on the small of her back and held her anchor hand in his own. Leaning toward her, he brought his lips to hers in a long, deep kiss. Time and the world stopped for the duration, there was no Inquisition, no blight, no Corypheus, no crisis.

The snow in a ten foot radius around the two instantly melted, leaving a ring of dormant grass exposed. Sensing herself lose control of her magic, she pulled back and whispered, “I should go.”

Channeling her deepest willpower, Niloofar slipped from Carver’s embrace and returned to the tavern, she stopped at the table only to grab the key and her staff before fleeing to her room.   
  
+++++

Back at the table, Carver rejoined Varric and Cassandra for Wicked Grace and another round of ale.

“Smooth, Junior. Real smooth. We lost our fourth player!” Varric scolded Carver as he dealt a new hand.

“Remind me, why didn’t you go back to Skyhold with Marian? She actually enjoys your company.” Carver quipped back as he took his cards into his hand.

“And miss out on Junior time? Not for the world. I know where to find Hawke.” Varric grinned, ordering the cards in his hand.

“Are you ladies going to keep bickering or play some cards?” Cassandra grinned and leaned back in her seat. The companions played cards until the inn emptied out to their rooms and they were the last to retire. 

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Return to Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Niloofar Trevelyan and her companions return to Skyhold after spending two months on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last third of this is kind of NSFW on the steamy side of the house. Nothing overly graphic, just a little warning. 
> 
> A reminder: consent is sexy.

In the distance, the stone behemoth, a fortress thawed from frozen slumber and nestled between peaks was visible in the distance. The sun’s white reflection of the glaciers and snowpack rendered the companions nearly blind from the light. Niloofar Trevelyan crinkled her nose as the smell of cold earth made her feel, to her surprise, at home. She didn’t expect to be so relieved to be back in the crisp mountains. Something about Skyhold felt more where she belonged than her cousins’ house or the Circle. She belonged to these mountains now, renewed during the flight from Haven. 

“Is that it? Is that Skyhold?” Carver asked, snapping Niloofar from her drifting thoughts and bringing her back to the present. The tip of his nose was pink from the cold. She thought it was cute against his snowy complexion. 

She smiled and nodded, “I can’t wait to give you the full tour. It’s capabilities are unmatched in the region, and I like the garden. It’s much nicer than the garden at Ostwick Circle.”

“I would like that, especially the garden,” Carver replied. He squinted and raised a hand to shade his left side while he looked at Niloofar to speak. 

“I’m sure Junior would like a tour of the Garden. Get to know Herald’s Rest, kid. We have some games of Wicked Grace to rematch.” Varric rushed up to walk alongside the duo. 

A dark shadow of a figure ran from the fortress gates toward them. Niloofar tightened her grip on her oak staff. As the figure approached she could make out the Inquisition style helmet issued to her forces and released a breath in relief. 

“Inquisitor! Your Grace!” The messenger cried out as he ran. Moments later he reached the group, “You’re needed right away by your advisors! Follow me, Leliana said, right away!”

Niloofar nodded and glanced back to Carver. “I’m sorry, Warden, I must postpone our tour. Varric will be happy to show you around, I’m sure.”

He nodded, a wash a disappointment flashed in his eyes, causing a pang of guilt behind her breastbone. “My lady,” he said.

The messenger waved at Niloofar to hurry, she sighed and began her fast walk up to the fortress. Of course the moment she returns she is slammed with responsibility. Every fiber of her being longed for some restorative time, a long night’s rest and a table full of food. She resigned herself to endure a longer than she originally anticipated. 

Hours later, the serving staff of the Inquisition set the table for dinner in the main hall, Niloofar and her advisors all sat together to continue their meeting. Niloofar refused to sit at the head of the table, as usual so Josie took the honored spot, Niloofar sat to her right, Leliana to Josie’s left and Cullen sat to the left of Niloofar. 

“I still think it’s too risky to go to the Winter Palace, last time we sent her holiness into a situation like that, she was transported a year into the future where we were all dead and Corypheus had the run of all of Thedas. No, as the commander I can’t allow the Inquisitor to take on this risk,” Cullen ranted. The serving elven girl filled Cullen’s stein with ale, while the ladies all had wine poured for them.

“Cullen! We will all be there, and do not forget if Niloofar hadn’t met with Alexius we wouldn’t know about the coming threats.” Josephine reminded the Commander. 

“I do come from nobility, Cullen, I know how to behave myself at court,” Niloofar spoke gently. Her fingers drummed on the tabletop in an absent manner. This debate had raged since she arrived and was ready to think about anything else. 

As she tuned out the debates of her advisors, a smile spread across her face as she saw the two Hawke siblings enter the hall. 

“Hawkes! Please come sit!” Niloofar called out to the siblings. She traded smiles with them, hoping they would disrupt the business talk for something less taxing.

Carver took a seat next to Cullen and Marian sat beside her brother. Their likeness unmistakeable, Carver sat a whole head taller than his sister, her presence was twice as loud. The obnoxious sound of pulling out her wooden chair grating across the stone floor drew the table’s attention. She then reached across her brother in order to snatch a roll of bread from the basket positioned by the former templar.

Niloofar enjoyed how Marian took ownership of whatever space she was in. She seized the opportunity of Marian holding everyone’s attention to mouth the word “hi” to Carver. He smiled and did the same. 

“Strange to all be sitting at a table together,” Marian remarked as she ripped the roll in half. 

“We’ve always been amicable at the least. I hired you a few times and even looked over your status as an apostate,” Cullen insisted. 

“So gracious of you,” Carver interjected with a snarky tone. 

“Doesn’t matter. We’re all apostates now, our families were just early adopters. Isn’t that right, Inquisitor?” A grin spread across Marian’s face. Niloofar smiled and raised her glass, remaining silent as an affirmation to Marian’s comment. 

“How are you finding life with the Wardens, Carver?” Cullen asked.

“As opposed to being dead? It’s great. The order is an honorable one. It’s good to have purpose.” Carver made eye contact with Niloofar for a second before Stroud joined the table.

“Carver Hawke is one of the order’s best warriors. He has been essential in the training of our forces working more effectively with mages in battle.” Stroud asserted. He gave a respectful nod to Niloofar. “I’m sure your Grace has seen what I describe in battle in your travels together?”

“I have. Cullen, do you think Carver could provide some instruction to our troops on his techniques?” Niloofar asked. It was true, when they were in combat together they were an effective team. It was different fighting with him than with Cassandra, Iron Bull or Blackwall.

“Inquisitor, do you really think this Warden knows more about magic in battle than our templar forces?” Cullen asked, clearing his throat before he spoke.

“Templars are experts in deflecting and disrupting magic, not fighting with magic in synchronicity,” Niloofar critiqued. “I too spent my entire adult life in a Circle, Commander.”

Cullen straightened his spine and his expression changed to something softer, “You’re right, your grace. We need every advantage we can gain against Corypheus’s forces.”

“Enough about the end of the world already!” Marian blurted out. “Someone say something else. Yes, yes my brother is great and you’d be an idiot to not utilize him while he’s not killing Darkspawn. 

The serving staff brought the entrees to the table just in time for Dagna to burst from the workshop calling for Niloofar’s help. She apologised to everyone at the table and quickly departed, leaving her dinner behind. 

The next day progressed with the same amount of chaos as when Niloofar arrived. She had two bites of her breakfast before being summoned to help with the healing of soldiers wounded from cold weather injuries from when the patrol fell down a crevasse and required assistance. Around midday when she sat down in the garden to take her lunch, Mother Giselle demanded her attention discussing strategy dealing with the Chantry. She waved to the resident Wardens across the garden while she conducted her meeting with the Reverend Mother.

When Niloofar was certain she was going to have a break in her day, Dorian approached the Inquisitor with requests to have the library expanded. Indulging Dorian was one of always enjoyable, at the least. Once the list was compiled, the tranquil Helisma required her attention. Niloofar found her fatigue growing exponentially. 

The remainder of the week provided little relief. Every time she felt like she had a moment for herself, someone needed her attention. Her advisors were the greediest with her time. She and Cullen were personally teaching the soldiers how to work with the allied mage forces, an exhausting task itself. She didn’t have a moment for herself, she only saw Carver in passing, or when meeting with his sister and Stroud. Only stolen glances and apologetic smiles. 

Finally, Friday evening arrived with the bustle and rush of the previous days. Josie demanded there was always a large banquet on Friday evenings to entertain the visiting nobility and merchants. Niloofar, exhausted, sat on the Andrastian throne while having an audience with the different guests wanting to lock herself in her quarters and never see another person again. Her face ached from the fake smile she wore to appease everyone around her.

When it was socially appropriate, Niloofar excused herself and retreated to her quarters. With the aid of her magic she drew herself a bath. Leaning back into the hot tub, she let out a long sigh. She closed her eyes, allowing her stresses and worries to flow into the warm water surrounding her.

A loud insistent knocking at the downstairs door broke her moment of peace. Grumbling, she pulled herself from the tub, drying in an instant, heating herself with magic. Every fiber of her being felt stretched thin. She snatched a tunic and threw it over her naked body and pulled on her leather breeches. She was sure the day, and therefore the week, was never truly going to be over. 

She stepped into cloth slippers, which were a gift from an Antivan dignitary, and with a begrudging haste, descended the stairs to the Main Hall’s door. Prepared for one of her advisors on the other side, she worked through a polite way to explain she was no longer available for anything short of Corypheus himself arriving. 

Swinging the door open, to her surprise Carver Hawke stood before her. His face wore a serious expression, his black eyebrows pushed together low on his forehead framing his piercing blue eyes. She rarely saw him out of armor, she could see the Ferelden farmboy in his wool tunic and breeches. A softness she appreciated.

“Carver, is something wrong?” She asked. The concern of his expression troubled her.

“Niloo, can we talk, alone?” He asked. His hands fidgeted, he looked around, as if afraid to be seen. She stepped aside and extended a hand in the direction of the stairs.

“Of course, come in.” She led him up to her palatial room. It still stunned her, all of that space was hers. With a raise of her hand, the fireplace roared back to life, warming the chamber.

Carver paced in front of the hearth for a minute, slow but determined. 

“Is something troubling you? Please let me know what I may do-”

His hands dropped to his side and he let out a long breath. “I don’t understand you.”

“What? What do you mean? You know I received the Anchor-” She began.

“No. I don’t get you, you Niloofar Trevelyan the woman, I don’t care about the bloody Anchor!” Carver snapped, he turned to face Niloofar. 

“I’m sorry, if I have offended you in some way-”

“Offended me? No, far from it. You’re the most polite, considerate person I’ve ever met. My sister Bethany is a- was a hooligan compared to you.” He swallowed hard. She could see his chest move in shallow breaths, he was upset, but she was clueless why.

“We spend weeks together, fighting together, talking together, spending almost every moment together, and you-- You were upset with me because I flirted with another woman in front of you, and then we shared that kiss outside the Inn, was it just to pass the time?”

A shock of horror coursed through her. “It’s your company I have craved all week!” The words fell from Niloofar’s lips, she couldn’t believe she was saying them. Shocked by her own honesty, she folded her arms across her chest. 

“Then, why have you avoided me?” Carver took a step closer toward her. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sorry, I’m still learning how to lead an Inquisition. Everyone needs so much help, and Maker, I try to give everyone what they need, I lend all my effort to the cause,” she felt like she was trying to convince herself more than Carver. 

In a swift movement, Carver drew Niloofar close to him, wrapping her in his arms. “But what about your needs?” He whispered.

Niloofar placed a hand on the back of Carver’s neck and brought her lips to meet his, in a long passionate kiss. His tongue parted her lips and reached for hers, as the intensity of their embrace built. 

With greedy hands, she reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled his tunic over his head and threw it to the couch. Carver pulled her back toward him, with a gentle touch, he untied the front closure of her oversized tunic. The garment fell to the floor, she kicked it from her feet. Almost like practiced choreography, Niloofar hopped up and wrapped her legs around him, supporting her as he carried her to the four poster bed across the room. 

Falling into the bedding together, Niloofar could feel her pulse accelerate. The concerns of war, chaos, monsters and demons dissolved into a hushed din in the back of her mind. She never needed someone as much as she craved his touch. 

Carver’s lips descended from her lips to the nook of her neck, the nape of her collar bone, exploring the sepia nipples of her small breasts only two shades darker than her terra-cotta brown skin, down her stomach to her hips and to the rise of her leather breeches. He paused placing a hand on the clothing’s clasp and sat back on his heels. 

He took a second to regain his breath, “I can stop, if you’re not ready.”

She propped herself up to sitting and maneuvered herself onto his lap and brushed her lips against his earlobe. “Carver, I want you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niloofar oversees training the soldiers with Carver’s techniques. The invitation to Halamshiral arrives.

The sounds of clanging steel and soldier’s feet on the earth created an almost musical rhythm. An icy wind kept blowing through the valley below Skyhold. 

Niloofar surveyed the field, the pink cheeks and red noses were visible among the soldiers as they practiced their new techniques before incorporating Mages. She looked up at the sky, guessing it was close to midday now, having been at training since an hour after dawn. 

After becoming annoyed with the cold she summoned energies from the veil and warmed herself with a glow of heat and a grin spread across her face at her newfound comfort. Ambushed by her lack of sleep the night before her covered her yawning mouth with her left hand. 

“Training boring you, your Grace?” The commander remarked. The cold morning seemed to suit him, something she guessed it was the result of his Fereldan disposition. 

Shaking her head she replied, “Forgive me, Cullen, I hardly slept a wink last night and have yet to have time to recover from my walk around Lake Calenhad. 

“Is this a usual ailment? Should you see if Adan has a remedy available?” Cullen asked. She noted the concern in her voice. Sleep had been a problem for her in the past, but she had other reasons for not resting the previous evening, and had no intention of telling anyone what that reason was.

“Maybe Alexius can help me stop time so whatever Adan were to prescribe had the opportunity to work,” Niloofar replied with a smirk. There was a swirling sense of absurd reality as she, a former Circle mage stood watching her troops, many of which were Templar defectors. 

Carver marched up and down the columns calling out moves and giving pointers to the soldiers. She marveled at how being deprived of rest seemed to not affect him at all. He stood out amongst the men in his blue and steel armor with his short raven hair blowinf about in the wind, uncovered by helmet or hat. She smiled hearing his voice on the wind, a secret for herself.

“No rest for the wicked,” Cullen remarked as a response to her comment about Alexius, bringing Niloofar’s focus back to the present. 

Stroud trudged up the hill and stood beside Cullen, overlooking the exercise. “Sometimes, I wonder if those Hawke children are the Maker’s joke, something has definitely gotten into Carver today, he’s forgetting he’s not working with Wardens and our extended endurance.”

Niloofar stifled a giggle, both Stroud and Cullen turned to look at her with matched puzzled expressions. 

“I’m sorry, I’m rummy.” Niloofar confessed, brushing off her laugh.

“It has been a long morning, I think it’s time to end the exercise and let the men break for lunch.” Cullen declared before calling out to the troops to break for meals. 

The soldiers neatly dispersed and Carver joined the Inquisition leaders on the hill. His forehead had beaded sweat, and his eyes were clear and bright as the midday sky. Niloofar couldn’t help but smile as he approached. 

“My lady,” Carver said greeting Niloofar and then acknowledged Cullen and Stroud with a nod. “I think your troops will be ready to begin training with the Mages tomorrow.”

“Excellent. We’ll have a few Templars on guard and healers ready. Not all Mages have the control over their powers as our leader here.” Cullen smiled at Niloofar, nudging her with a soft elbow, causing her to laugh. 

“Well, gentlemen, if we’re concluding our training for the morning, then I will excuse myself, I’m sure Leliana and Josie have plenty for me to do.” Niloofar nodded a farewell to the three men.

“I should check in on my sister,” Carver said. “Mind if I accompany you back to the castle?”

“Of course,” she replied. They began the long walk up the mountain to the entry to the fortress. 

Once they were sure they were out of earshot, and their line of sight obscured by boulders and hills, Carver surprised Niloofar with a kiss and embrace. The romantic gesture was short, but it was enough to make Niloofar accidentally melt all the snow in a ten foot radius around them. She channeled a bit of ice magic to refreeze the area not to draw too much attention. 

“How are you doing today?” He asked, taking her hand as they walked for a few feet until they crested a hill. 

“I’m wonderful, and utterly tuckered out. If Josie and Leliana have nothing for me, then I’m retreating to my quarters for a nap,” she divulged, she could feel her cheeks grow warm. “How are you?”

“I’ve never been better,” Carver replied. His smile faded as a messenger was seen in the distance heading toward them. He sighed, turning to her and asked, “May I visit you later?”

“Maker save you if you don’t,” she countered before running to meet the messenger. 

The messenger ushered Niloofar to the war room where Leliana and Josephine waited. The warmth of the fire and bright sun beaming through the stained glass windows felt disorienting after the hike back to the fortress. 

“Niloofar, good! We must wait for Cullen to join us. He should be here soon,” Leliana explained. 

“He was just down the mountain from me. He’ll be here soon.” Niloofar leaned against the table, wishing it was time to have lunch or take a nap.

“Inquisitor, is something troubling you?” Josephine’s expression was pinched in concern. 

“I’m just overworked and underslept. I haven’t had a moment since we returned to even write a letter to my cousin.” She sighed confessing her exhaustion. Niloofar felt the weight of shame, wishing she could be everywhere at once. She wondered if Andraste ever this way, and then immediately decided it wasn’t possible. 

“Goodness, you’re right. Leliana, our leader needs a break.” Josephine’s eyes grew wide, as if she shocked herself. 

The door to the chamber swung open with a thunderous bang. Cullen shuffled in, the cold radiated from his person. Stroud, Carver and Marian followed behind, each bringing the cold in with them. Niloofar and Carver exchanged glances before she acknowledged everyone. 

“We’re here, your Grace,” Cullen said as he walked around to stand beside Leliana and Josephine. Leliana handed Cullen a letter. He immediately busied himself with reading it.

“Very good,” Leliana began, “We have obtained an invitation to the peace talks at Halamshiral between Empress Celene and her cousin, Gaspard.”

“A ball? A party? This is a terrible idea!” Cullen interrupted Leliana. She shot him a disapproving look.

“I was getting to that.” Leliana narrowed her eyes.

“It would be an indefensible position and puts Niloofar in a completely exposed position. If we’re there to stop an assasination, how can we prevent a direct attack on the inquisitor?” Cullen demanded. 

“I happen to be great at parties.” A voice from the back of the room chimed in. Everyone turned their heads to see Marian Hawke leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. 

“No one doubts-“

“Cullen, sweetheart, shh.” Marian placed a finger in front of her lips for a moment before continuing. “If the Wardens and myself accompany the Inquisitor on top of her normal entourage on top of all the troops you’re already deploying to the Exalted Plains soon, she becomes a less desirable target.”

“It might cause a riot if the Champion of Kirkwall and the Inquisitor both go to the Ball.” Josephine commented, grinning at the idea.

“And all three of us will be there as well, what do you think Inquisitor?” Leliana asked.

Niloofar nodded, “I think it’s a great idea. Carver Hawke has been a steadfast guard for me since we left Crestwood. I would be honored to have the Champion of Kirkwall and two Wardens by my side. How long do we have to prepare?”

“The gala is in two months, we will be deploying to the region in three weeks.” Cullen placed the letter down on the table.

Niloofar looked around the room, struggling not to lock eyes with Carver, and succumbing for just a fraction of a second.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have ourselves the beginning of a plan. And now, if you forgive me, I must excuse myself.” Niloofar declared before adjourning the meeting and retreating from the war room. 

“Inquisitor!” Varric called out as she entered the main hall. He was seated at one of the long tables with plates of food in front of them. 

“Varric!” Niloofar smiles as she approached. “What’s all this?” 

“I noticed you looked a little worse for wear and I scheduled a meeting with your advisors. This way I knew you could sit down and have a nice lunch.” He explained pulling out a seat and sat himself at the head of the table. 

Niloofar dropped down into the chair, “Varric, Maker keep you.” 

“I used to have to do this for Hawke, she wouldn’t take care of herself, and look what happened?” Varric filled their wine glasses.

“She still saved Kirkwall, some things were beyond her control.” She took a bite of bread.

“That’s not the point! She survived any of it because Fenris, Aveline and I worked in a coordinated effort to make sure she didn’t run herself ragged.” Varric explained between hurried mouthfuls.

“Well, I’m not Hawke, I’m no stranger to responsibility.” She protested, draining her wine glass.

“See, there’s where you’re wrong. You’re exactly like Hawke, and actually, worse. You have no… vices. No outlet!” Varric pushed the subject.

“That’s not true! I have my training, my research and reading, and-“

“-and exactly! You just listed responsibilities of your job description. What interests you?” Varric asked. She took a moment to respond so she could finish her soup. 

“I really do like reading and learning. Fitness and exercise bring my great pleasure. I am enjoying so much time with all of these new friends. You’re right, I don’t have much personal space or time, but it’s a gift. The Circle was so boring, I was always with the same people. There wasn’t an opportunity to meet many new people, other than Templars. They rotated sometimes. Being here, to be free. This is living my best dream.”

“You have a thing for someone here, don’t you?” Varric smirked.

“And I’m never going to tell you who.” Niloofar folded her arms across her chest. 

“Nice speech though, I believed about half of it.” Varric grumbled. 

“Oh, but which half?” Niloofar responded, feeling smug and thankful. She never had anyone in her life who cared about her well being enough to make her a surprise lunch. 

“Thanks, Varric.” Niloofar smiled at the dwarf.

“No problem, kid.”

After lunch Niloofar met with Dorian to discuss his newest theory, which talked her right into a nap in his chair. Dorian didn’t have the heart to move her after she dozed off during an over complicated explanation on Tevinter marriage practices. He woke her a few hours later when Josephine came looking for her. 

  
  
  



	8. The Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stroud discovers Carver hasn’t been sleeping in his quarters at night and Marian has a sisterly talk with her brother.

Jean-Marc Stroud enjoyed his life. As a Warden, he was afforded purpose and responsibility greater than his previous existence as a young nobleman. Mornings like this one, crisp air with a warming sun, cool shade and the smell of autumn leaves made him ruminate on his familial home of Ghislain. 

Skyhold and the surrounding mountains couldn’t be more different than the dry grassy fields of northern Orlais, but when the sun was at the right place in the sky, he felt at home. It didn’t matter, he hadn’t returned to his homeland for decades, as it was safer for him to keep to the Free Marches out of fear of reprisals of the Grand Game which took his family from him while he was away training to be a Chevalier. 

Stroud leaned against the short stone wall overlooking the garden outside his quarters in the fortress. Inhaling a deep breath, the Calling writhed through his senses, a melody so haunting it made him grip the stone hard enough to whiten his knuckles. Then, like a passing breeze, the Calling receded to the background; the magic built into the foundations of Skyhold combatted the reach of The Song.

Deciding it was time to roust his fellow Warden, he knocked on the door next to his room. Nothing. He knocked again, “Hawke?” Nothing again. He knocked a third time, “Hawke!” He shouted.

The door past Carver’s room burst open. Wrapped like a cocoon in the bedding, Marian Hawke peeked her head through. 

“I’m right here, Stroud,” she grumbled. 

Stroud sighed and shook his head. “Sorry Marian, you’re brother seems to be either dead or dead asleep.”

Rolling her eyes, she hopped a few steps in front of her brother’s door and turned the handle. The door swung open revealing a tidy room with a made bed. 

“He either woke up before dawn, which is totally possible, or he didn’t come to bed last night. So maybe he’s at the Hanged Man?” She yawned her words while rubbing her eyes. 

“Surely you mean the Herald’s Rest? We aren’t in Kirkwall anymore, Hawke.” Stroud smiled as he offered a gentle correction to the Champion. 

“Whatever. Who’s that barmaid who skulks about? The one who won’t stop talking about being saved from the burning building in Haven?” she asked.

“I’ll go check the tavern. Sorry to wake you, Hawke.” He patted her on the head, her short black hair stood out in every direction. Stroud found himself beginning to enjoy Marian’s company. After years of stories about her from her brother, he couldn’t help but notice their distinct similarities in behavior and appearance. For instance, both siblings wore the exact same expression when woken up before they were ready. 

Stroud left her to investigate the Herald’s Rest. It wasn’t an emergency, but he always felt responsible for Carver. He didn’t want to alert Carver’s sister, but he noticed the younger Hawke hadn’t slept in his bed for many nights. Which meant he was either drinking his nights away at the Rest, which was entirely possible, or found a partner for other nocturnal activities. He shook his head, thinking on how Carver was one of the more distractible men he served with in the order. Something about his presence forever evoked the Ferelden farm boy, which seemed to greatly interest ladies of certain demographics. So much so, it was noticeable even among the female wardens. Marian was right to mention Flissa, yes that was her name.

* * *

Marian Hawke collapsed back into her bed after being so rudely awakened by Stroud. She didn’t have the fire to stay annoyed because her thoughts drifted to her absent brother. She knew his habits as a young man, but not as a Grey Warden. His life had changed since the Deep Roads, and she realized how far she had grown from her brother. A Carver sized space in her heart next to the Bethany and Leandra sized vacancies.

She ruminated on the relationship she shared in the early years in Kirkwall with Carver. He used to tell her everything, despite how much she would razz him about his personal adventures. Bethany, though his twin, was always a little bit more judgemental, than Marian. Marian never would have felt comfortable divulging the worst aspects of the last decade to her, her idealism made her difficult to approach. But Carver, he would just tell her to stop being an idiot about whatever, or whoever, she was doing, which was his way of letting her know he cared. 

Deciding her missing brother wasn’t an emergency this time, she closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep. If he found a good way to pass the nights, good for him. Just as her dreams began to materialize, she heard the sound of Carver’s door open and shut. 

“Andraste’s ass,” Marian grumbled and unwrapped herself from her blanket and pulled a heavy wool sweater over her head, stepped into her black leather breeches and grumbled out of her room. 

With an insistent fist, she banged on Carver’s door. A muffled shout of something like, “Just a minute” came from within. Some other sounds and then the door swung open. Carver stood in the doorway fully dressed and bathed. He didn’t look like he spent the night at the tavern, which felt suspicious to Marian.

“Marian? What do you want?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Stroud was looking for you earlier, and you weren’t in your room, so I told him to check the Hanged Man-”

“Herald’s Rest,” Carver corrected his sister.

“Whatever! Anyway, he was looking for you. So where did you sleep last night? Or like the last two weeks?” She cut to the chase. She was awake hours earlier than she planned and was going to get retribution for the disturbance. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carver’s flat expression gave away nothing. His poker face was one of his stronger tactics. She regretted teaching him the skill she never mastered herself. 

“Okay, well, I saw you with a bundle of alpine flowers on Tuesday, and I know you’re not at the pub all night because Varric and I have been playing cards late all week. You’re  _ exceptionally _ well groomed, you’ve not been half as snarky as you normally are and you’re… smiling when no one is looking!”

Carver looked down the walkway in each direction and then shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you shouldn’t hit the Antivan brandy so hard?” He turned away from his sister to retreat to his quarters. 

The tingle of the veil buzzed in her fingers, she sighed, letting her magic go. Had they both been younger she would have done something dumb like launch him across the room with a force push or some other rough tactic, but she had grown weary of confrontation since the war broke out.

“Are you happy?” She asked in a thready voice. Carver paused and sighed. He turned around and gestured for his sister to come into the room. She obliged and he shut the door behind her. He took a seat on the edge of his bed while Marian made herself comfortable leaning against the small square wooden table.

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about this stuff, but I miss you. Just talk to me about your life, I don’t get to be part of it because everything is so stupid, and Mother was right, I shouldn’t have brought you with me-”

“Marian! Enough. We’ve already about this, I’m happy I’m a Warden. It gives me purpose, something bigger to be a part of. I am good at it too.” Carver tried to calm his sister down, she hated that reassuring tone he would use. It worked, and was frustrating. 

“Okay, so are you happy? With whoever this is?” She folded her arms across her chest, though she wasn’t the one in the hot seat, she felt vulnerable.

“If you must know, I’m happy. In all honesty, I’ve never been happier in all of my life. Being with her is easy as breathing and more exciting than a storm.”

“So it’s not Dorian, or Cullen.” Marian grinned. Feeling smug since she was able to get him to leak at least a thread of information.

“Andraste’s tits! What would make you think I like men? Especially not a Tevinter mage or ‘Mister Mages aren’t like you and me’ Templar!” Carver dropped his hands in exasperation. 

“I didn’t really, I just wanted to see your face when I said their names. So it’s I know?”

“Yes.” He hesitated, “but I won’t tell you who.”

“So she’s important? Someone who needs to remain anonymous? Someone… powerful. Oh fuck, me. Carver?! You’re plowing the Ambassador? How in Andraste’s ass did that happen? You do know she’s  _ serious _ nobility, right?” Marian couldn’t imagine her brother pairing off with the ruffle wearing even-tempered women with more poise in the tip of her Antivan nose than Carver possessed in his entire person. 

Carver put his head in his hands. “It’s not Josephine, though yes she is lovely.” He rose to his feet and places a hand on Marian’s shoulder giving her the sad puppy face she loathed. Ever since he was a baby, it was the one expression Marian still had no defenses against.

“Okay. I guess I’ll just never know who makes my little brother so happy. You know Mother would want you to share with me!” Marian was losing the situation. He shot her a glare, letting her know that was a low blow, which it was. 

A strong knock shook the door to Carver’s quarters. The siblings exchanged glances and Carver approached the door and opened it. Marian smoothed out her coif in a fast attempt to appear presentable. 

To Marian’s surprise, the Inquisitor was on the other side, the flash of horror on her grace’s face surprised her. Niloofar Trevelyan was a petite woman with warm sepia skin, shoulder length black hair and sharp features which reminded her of Dorian and Josephine. Her hazel eyes penetrated Marian’s soul, a striking combination. Marian now understood the long looks Cullen and Josephine would give when her holiness wasn’t paying attention. She was graceful and strong, yet something unassuming and quiet about her presence. Marian wished Isabela was present to say something rude and funny. 

“Inquisitor!” Marian greeted the young woman. “Fancy seeing you about these parts so early!.”

“Good morning Hawkes,” Niloofar said with a smile and courteous nod. “I’m sorry, Marian, I’m afraid I must borrow your brother for the day, there’s some suspicious tunnels beneath the fortress which need to be addressed, and it’s always best to have a Warden on hand for such ventures.”

Marian narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t going to let Carver off so easily. “What about Stroud or Blackwall? I need Carver for the morning,  _ family _ business.”

The inquisitor raised her shoulders in a shrug, “I suppose I can just as easily ask them. You’re right, forgive the intrusion.” She brushed some errant strands of hair away from her face. 

Niloofar turned to walk away as Carver shouted, “Wait! I’ll be right there, I just need to finish talking to my sister.” 

Spinning on her heels, her grace smiled at Carver and closed the door behind her leaving the siblings to themselves. A few quiet seconds past then Marian’s eyes grew wide with realization. With an open palm, Marian brought her hand across Carver’s face in a slap. 

“Ow! Marian! Andraste’s ass, what was that for?” Carver covered the impacted cheek with his hand.

In a raging whisper Marian scolded her brother, “I thought I was the reckless idiot hooking up with destitute pirates and partnering with slaves who have murder fists, but Maker’s Breath this is colossally stupid! What are you thinking?!”

“Wait, you and Isabela  _ and _ Fenris?” Carver asked, it was evident he was more interested in Marian’s reveal than covering his own story.

“Yeah, for a while after Fenris dumped me for three years until we got back-that’s not the bloody point, Carver!” Her face grew hot as she became flustered. 

“So what is the point? You know, the one you slapped me for?” Carver countered in a hushed tone. 

“Please tell me you and she are not-“

“What  _ she _ ? Marian, you’re not making any sense.” Carver grabbed his utility belt and tied it to his waist over his blue and silver chainmail armor. 

“The  _ she _ who just came here asking for you, directly, because she wants the big bad Warden to keep her safe from scary shadows and things which go bump in the night! Carver! She’s more religious than Sebastian!”

“That’s not even remotely possible, and you’re forgetting I have a sworn duty as the Inquisitor’s Warden bodyguard. Darkspawn is a threat everywhere. Just because you survived every encounter you’ve had with Darkspawn, you shouldn’t forget that the majority of this family hasn’t been so lucky!” 

Marian staggered back until she bumped against the wall. His words stung. “Carver, she’s the bloody Herald of Andraste. She’s  _ Ostwick _ nobility, like titles and shit matter. She lived in a Circle, the place our family tried to keep Beth, Dad and I away from. You know Josephine is surely going to marry her off to someone like Gaspard or hell maybe even King Alistair, since he’s a bachelor, something to consolidate positions of power or oh Maker. Were you her first time?”

Carver looked bewildered at his sister and just erupted into laughter, sitting back down on the bed. He shook his head, opened his canteen and took a drink. Marian watched, her eyebrows knit together, confused. 

“Maker’s breath, Marian. You need to calm down. Everyone’s an adult here. I doubt Josephine will marry anyone off to anyone. I  _ know _ her views on the Maker and Andraste, we spent over a month together on the road. She’s not some shrinking violet! You’re talking about the woman who stared down Corypheus and closed the breach. She survived the worst explosion in history. She’s her own person. Maybe the Maker has other plans for her, but she’s the best thing which has ever happened to me. Please keep your bloody mouth shut. I don’t know what the future will hold, but right now there’s a person who makes me feel like I’m the most important person in their world.” Carver divulged.

Marian leapt across the room and wrapped her brother in a tight hug, squeezing him tighter than he preferred, but instead of his usual squirming, he embraced her equal amounts. Unprepared for her brother’s response, her eyes began to sting as tears flowed through them. Before she knew it, she shuddered in sobs.

“I wish Mother were here! She wanted so much for you! And I constantly fucked it up for our family.” She uttered between gasps for breath. She didn’t remember the last time she cried so hard. As if the last five years were pouring from her soul with the purpose ro rust her brother’s armor. Wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater she released Carver and sat beside him.

“Marian, I’ve spent most of my adult life as a Grey Warden. That ogre was more than any of us could handle. We’re lucky we survived. Becoming a Warden, I get to avenge Bethany every day. Every blood mage you fight, you even the score for Mother’s life. Kirkwall was never going to work for me. But we still have each other, even if we are apart most of the time. You will always be the most frustrating and infuriating person I know.” Carver smiled, placing his hand over hers. 

“Do you really mean that?” Marian sniffled.

“No one could possibly be more frustrating than you, promise.” Carver reassured his sister. Normally she would have reached for a quippy response, but with a lifetime of moments to ruin in the future, she didn’t want to get ahead herself. The relief of the honest conversation felt like the weight of all of Kirkwall’s Chantry stones were removed from her back.

Marian nodded and wiped away a few more rogue tears. “I just wish Mother could’ve met her. You know? She never really warmed to Fenris, but shit. You nab a noblewoman, and mage, and the little babies you two could have!”

“Marian, I’m tainted. The chance of procreation is unlikely, and it’s not exactly a great time to start a family, and-“

“Shut up! We’re having a moment. Please father a bunch of little Hawke-Trevelyan babies for mother’s sake. The Hawke line must continue! She’s a mage, like me and Bethy and  _ Dad _ ! She’s even a good Andrastian, mom is at the seat of the Maker right now begging you! Do it for her!”

Carver shook his head in a failed attempt to stifle laughter. “Maker’s breath, sister. Drop it.”

Together they sat in silence for a few moments, as their giggles subsided. Marian thought about the situation, she understood why her brother wanted privacy about the situation. Though she did have the intention to keep her brother’s secret, she also knew she was going to divulge the situation to Varric at some point. Varric was good at keeping the important secrets. He protected her and Fenris after Anders blew up the Chantry.

“Okay, okay, okay! Your secret is safe with me. I’m happy you’re happy.” Marian patted her brother on the shoulder. She wanted to tell him how proud she was of the man he had become. It felt like a lifetime since he was poorly flirting with Merrill and begging Aveline for a job. It occurred to her, Aveline was wrong about Carver, he was a great warrior and followed rules enough. If Aveline had given Carver a chance, maybe he wouldn’t have insisted on going with her and Varric on the expedition and there really could be nieces and nephews for her to spoil. She imagined Bethany and Mother and Dad cooing at chubby baby cheeks and the fine inevitable black hair on the infant’s head. Her sister loved children so much, she would have made the most wonderful aunt. Mother and Dad would have never stopped laughing at Carver partnering with a mage. 

“Thanks, Marian. It means a lot to me.” Carver smiled. Then returned to his feet. “It’s time for me to be off.” He fastened his two handed sword to his back and waved to his sister leaving in his room. Marian could hear the sound of the Inquisitor’s voice on the other side. 

She smiled and waited for their footsteps to grow distant before leaving. Then she shuffled to her room and readied herself as fast as she could, she needed to speak with Varric as soon as possible. 

  
  
  



	9. Out of the Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian Hawke can’t keep a secret. Especially not from Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two small pieces are super minimal at this time. I will fill these out more at a later date. I hope you enjoy them!

Nearly tumbling down the stairs, Marian rushed through the corridors from the garden quarters to Varric’s post by the fire in the main hall at Skyhold. She had news which couldn’t wait. 

Unsuspecting the calamity barreling toward him, the dwarf sat with a mug of tea and cold toast beside him while he poured over some papers. Quill in hand, he pressed down on the metal nib.

“VARRIC!” Marian hollered as she burst through the doors leading to the mezzanine where Vivienne took residence. 

Everyone in the hall turned and looked at the Champion, who still sported her morning hair. Seeing it was only Marian, people just returned to their business, except Varric who now had a page of parchment soaked in black ink after being startled. 

Marian scrambled to Varric’s side, sliding into the vacant seat across from him with the grace of a newborn foal. 

“Hawke.” Varric glanced at his ruined papers and back up at Marian.

“Varric, I have something I have to tell you. But you can’t tell anyone. I mean it!” Marian snatched the ink soaked paper and threw it into the fire. The flames roared and crackled at the fuel. 

“Then why are you telling me, if this is information people shouldn’t know?” Varric took a long sip from his mug. 

“You aren’t people, Varric.”

“I’m glad to know where you stand on dwarven/ human race relations,” Varric baited.

Marian let out a groan which reverberated off the stone walls causing everyone, once again, to eye the Champion.

“Yes, because I Marian Hawke, am the premier bigot in Thedas. Human rights! Maker’s Ass. You aren’t people because you’re already me. If we’re the same person how can you be people?” 

Varric leaned forward smoothing Hawke’s omnidirectional hair with a few strokes. “It does make sense why Fenris  _ hugged _ me last time I saw him… but if this is true it would make sleeping arrangements more confusing than I prefer.”

Scrunching her face in a grimace, the very idea of sharing a bed with Varric and Fenris was not what she meant. Though, objectively, she’s made worst decisions in the past, and likely to do so again in the future. “Is there a reason you’re being so difficult right now?! I have gossip.”

“Marian, I was in the middle of things when you came in here. But since you’ve burned the evidence of my efforts, spill it. What has you all a flutter?”

Taking a long survey of the room, and looked over her shoulder before speaking. “Carver… and—“ she lowered her volume to a whisper. “Niloofar are  _ together _ .”

“I know.” Varric replied almost as fast as she finished her sentence. 

“It’s hard to believe, Right? Carver, Missere Stammers when Daisy—What?! How did you know?”

“You didn’t spend a month with them travelling around Lake Calenhad,” Varric divulged with a sigh.

“Explain.” Marian placed her palms flat on the table. 

“It started with  _ glances _ , when no one was looking. Then, they’re  _ talking _ all the time. I thought our Inquisitor was quiet like Daisy, but around Junior? They would go  _ on.  _ Then I made the mistake of sending Junior to diffuse a situation with a barmaid,” Varric explained in a hushed tone.

“Well, what happened?” 

“She saw him flirting with the barmaid, and was in tears.  _ Tears, _ I tell you. She ran outside to do the girlish,  _ I’m not upset but I’m upset, _ pout.”

Marian frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Leaning back in his chair, Varric smirked. “ _ Sure _ . Miss, I slept with the spikey murder elf and then spent a year being sad when he leaves after one night.”

“The Spikey Murder Elf and I are fine  _ now _ . The present is what matters. My brother. The  _ noblewoman  _ mage. Them. Smooshing. Talk. You knew?” Marian pressed her hands flat against the surface of the table. 

“It’s not a big deal. The inquisitor found someone who treats her like a normal person, isn’t wary of magic and Junior found someone who makes him feel important,” Varric explained. 

A passing moment of silence quieted the two as visiting dignitaries passed by them. Marian glared at the masked Orlesian, the cultural tradition eluded her. Another thing she thought made Orlesians look gaudy. 

“So what happened with the barmaid?” Marian asked after returning her focus to the present.

“Cassandra and I sent Junior outside, where she retreated. Then Cassandra and I cozied up to the window so we could get a better look, and after a moment of conversation, they finally kissed. I handed over the ten gold I now owed Cass after losing the bet, and we retreated back to our table before either of them were the wiser. Really kept the road interesting. Cass and I had been escalating bets for the last week and a half.”

Marian drummed her fingertips on the table in a rolling pattern. “This was not nearly as scandalous as I had hoped. Am I the last to know?” 

Varric chuckled, “Oh, no. When Curly finds out he’s probably going to cry. It looks like he’s been carrying quite the torch.”

“Re-he-he-he-eally? Go team Hawke!” She cheered loud enough to draw leering looks from the population of the gigantic room. “Oh man, can I tell him?”

“No. Let this play out organically. Let the kids be kids, Marian. Let Curly be the last one to figure it out. It’s probably best that way. I mean, he didn’t really catch on to you being a mage until you were in Kirkwall, how long?” Varric cautioned Marian. He was being reasonable again, which was becoming an annoying habit in her eyes.

“Yeah well, Cullen is about as observant as a blind mole.” 

“Uh, Hawke—“ Varric attempted to interrupt her.

“I mean, Cullen is possibly one of the most delusional people I’ve ever met. He didn’t see the signs on Meredith until she was slicing his face open with her stupid Lyrium sword!” Marian continued.

“ _ Hawke!  _ Shhh!” Varric tried again. Pointing behind Marian.

“I mean, Cullen was the worst Templar, he didn’t even know his own people were helping me, help Mages escape  _ while _ giving me, an apostate job after job! What a rube! What a joke! He’s never going to pick up on it! Someone should just tell him-“

“Tell me what, Champion?” The soft and tired voice of Commander Rutherford came from behind her.

Marian’s eyes widened and she turned her head around and smiled something horrendous and apologetic. 

“That I’m a mage.” 

Cullen raised an eyebrow, “Has it ever occured to you Hawke, we all knew, but because you made yourself so indispensable it became improbable to apprehend you? And it was one of the statues which sliced my face, thank you very much.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re pretty and therefore should just stand there and look good. You’re ruining it with the thing you’re doing with your mouth.” Marian’s tone was syrupy with the jab.

“I’ll try to keep it in consideration. Hawke, Varric.” He nodded for both of them before continuing to the War Room. 

“Shit that was close.” Marian let out an exaggerated sigh and slumped in her seat. Deflated.

“What did I tell you about gossip?” Varric cautioned.

“Shut up, and let’s go to the Hanged Man and get breakfast drunk.”

“You mean the Herald’s Rest.”

“Whatever.”

* * *

  
  
  


Prompt 4 surprise in the Library 350 words

“Inquisitor!” Marian said, greeting Niloofar Trevelyan entering the Library.

Startled, Niloofar dropped the ceramic mug she carried in one had and the stack of documents fell to the floor like confetti.

“Marian!” Niloofar regained her composure while Marian apologized and helped gather the papers, kicking the ceramic away.

“How may I help you, Hawke?” Niloofar asked. Deeply uncomfortable as Carver explained the previous evening that his sister knew the situation.

“Let’s sit,” Marian said as she moved to the table and chairs.

Avoiding eye contact, they stared at the ground before Marian spoke. “Niloofar, I know you and Carver are—.”

“Maker’s breath!“

“I’ve not been able to be around Carver much in, um, many, years, and I’m happy you guys are together!”

Unsure of what to say, Niloofar felt relieved “Oh…”

Marian lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Niloofar. “Welcome to the family!”

Breaking the embrace but took Marian’s hand into hers, “I promise you I will do everything I can to protect him. He’s been the best part of all of… this.”

Marian grinned. “You two actually like each other, you’re not just banging it out.”

Niloofar recoiled in horror, joking with her sex life with the Champion of Kirkwall was beyond surreal. She also didn’t really know how to joke about such matters.

“Relax! Your secret is safe with Varric.“

“Maker’s teeth! Varric knows?”

“He’s my secret keeper. Besides, he said he already knew.” Marian explained.

“This place is worse than a Circle tower for secrets!” Niloofar threw up her hands.

“Easy...” Marian soothed. “You’re the center of everyone’s attention now, and I know a thing or three about it. They, out there, will ask everything from you. My brother, still the worst, will do his best by you. We don’t have a lot of family left. I promise to do what I can to help you two. It was difficult for Fenris and I, and I was only the Champion. The Herald of Andraste has bigger problems to fix. It’s okay if everything in the universe isn’t about the mission all of the time.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. The Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do Wardens dream?

The Song

  
  


You will return. From beneath leagues of rock and earth, beneath the caverns and roads, you will return to me. 

My voice is the whisper in the echo, carried by repeating voices on the wind. The decay of a plucked string, vibrating into infinity, where I wait and wait and linger

Slithingering through your senses, my dissonance permeates your dreams. Choruses of talons and wings hidden in every clang of steel and thunder of feet. Writhing through every reverberation, undulating in the vibrations of something immediate and unreachable.

The itch under your nail, the ache of your teeth, the knot behind your sternum, the salty grit left rimming your eyes after you have no more tears to shed, you feel my progression. 

Within every shadow, reflected back to you in every skull you see, your fear is a rapture of ambrosia, your savory adrenaline is my fuel, as my stanzas grow louder in every swing of your blade, every step you march.

You will return. When neither water or ale can quench your thirst, you will return. When no roast or feast satisfies your hunger, you will return. When pleasures of the flesh leave you hollow and without relief, you will return. 

For I will not suffer eternity alone, my child. You have taken of me, thus you shall repay your accommodation. My children always return to me, just as you will come. Beneath the roads. You will come. You will come home.

Choose to ignore my melodies, the detuned Symphony, my ballads and dirges will devour your dreams. No more will you think of flowers, sun and rain. No more desires of passion or touch. Only for me. Only of me and my thieving embrace, the blackening blood in your veins. Split your flesh to the quick and you will see.

You

Belong

To

Me.

  
  


* * *

Clawing to consciousness, Carver awoke, a cold sweat soaked the sheets around him, beading on his skin. The panic in his chest, propelled by rapid a rapidly beating heart, subsided as he saw he was still in the Inquisitor’s personal quarters, and not in the Deep Roads. 

The soft murmur of slumber’s breath informed him he hadn’t woken his love. Depositing a kiss on her terra-cotta forehead, he covered her bare shoulder with a blanket. 

With the grace of a cautious wolf, Carver removed himself from the bed, deciding it wasn’t too early to be awake. His stomach rumbled, he hadn’t felt this hungry since the weeks after his Joining. Borrowed from death, he knew his time was stolen. 

A smile spread across Carver’s lips as he dressed himself and thought a taunt to the Old Gods, _Not Yet_. He knew the debt would have to be paid, but not today. 

These thoughts kept Carver company as he descended to the kitchen. There was much to do, and he had a Warden’s hunger to satiate first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short installment this week, life gets busy sometimes. Hopefully more plot next week! Thank you for reading.


	11. Memories of Battles Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver reflects on his life as the Inquisition restores order to the Exalted Plains

A crackle of electricity arcing through the air sizzled as it dissipated. Chimes of steel hitting steel while the cries of men at arms summoned their bravery as the Inquisition pressed on. 

Every bit of ground gained in the Exalted Plains was taken by inches. The Freemen of the Dales with the help of demons and the undead, pushed back against the Inquisition’s army for weeks. That was, until the Inquisitor and her personal detail arrived. Accompanied by The Champion of Kirkwall, three Grey Wardens, a northern and southern mage, a dwarf with a crossbow, a Red Jenny, and a qunari warrior, an elven apostate and a ghostly rogue, the Inquisitor squashed the Freemen’s efforts. 

Warden Carver Hawke wrinkled his nose, the sweet and acrid odor of death and fear punctuated the chilly morning. Closing his eyes, he remembered another battlefield.

Over a decade ago, southern Ferelden. The soldier in front of him stood in a small pool of wet earth. Earlier, the same man boasted of how many Darkspawn he was planning to slay. Yet, moments before the horde arrived, he pissed himself. Carver smirked, battle made cowards of the loudest men and warriors of those who found their calm in the before moments. 

Something about the greasy fog on this day reminded him of the Massacre at Ostagar. Watching the Grey Wardens and the King devastated, the blood, the screams, he felt separate from the moment. He didn’t remember fleeing, only fighting the Darkspawn and being dragged away. The time between Logain’s retreat and his return to Lothering lost forever to adrenaline and fear. 

Maybe it was the burning body pits or the glassy stare of the survivors of Gaspard and Celene’s armies. The only thing missing was the stench of the Blight. The smell of the Darkspawn took his breath the first time, and now a Warden himself, the same smell told him it was time to go to work. No Darkspawn here, only demons and madmen. 

Time to fight on.

Freeing the forts from the grip of the melting faced Horrors was thankless work, but freeing. He was happy to be away from the million eyes of Skyhold for the perceived privacy of the road. His sister accompanying their efforts provided a shield for him and Niloofar. 

Carver finally understood the advice from Varric on being a good little brother he gave almost a decade ago. Marian’s beacon of light cast hard shadows, no one asked about the Inquisitor’s Warden Escort when they could talk to the Champion of Kirkwall herself. Before anyone could ask about the Warden retiring to the Inquisitor’s tent, Marian would leap into the conversation changing the topic and getting everyone around her drunk. 

Black of night came fast again. The Plains were still devoid of Darkspawn, but the False Calling grew in intensity. Night after night he awoke with the same dream, the Archdemon’s song. This night, it was louder than the din of Niloofar’s connection to the Veil. 

Covered in a sheen of cold sweat, he reached for his shirt and began to towel himself off. Before he managed to make serious progress, he felt Niloofar’s hand on his back. In a pulse of energy, she dried his skin. 

“Nightmare again?” Niloofar asked as she stretched out her arms in a yawn. 

Carver tucked her back into the blankets and furs of their bedding and kissed her forehead. She fell back asleep in an instant. He dressed himself and left their tent relying on his expert silence to not disturb his lover. 

To his surprise, he found his sister sitting up by the dying fire, alone nursing a bottle of wine. She waved him over and he shuffled over. The bite of cold in the air bothered him less and less the longer he was a Grey Warden. 

“Welcome to party No Sleep!” Marian laughed putting the bottle down. She patted the rock beside her and he sat down where she indicated. 

“So,” Carver said.

“So,” Marian replied. She and Carver exchanged glances and both began to laugh.

“Shh, you’re going to wake everyone up.” Carver warned as he tried to hush himself. 

“Sorry… sorry. It’s just kind of funny? I mean, what a Maker loving joke? You and me, in Orlais trying to sort out an Orlesian civil war while your lady friend tries to put the world back together one rift at a time. We’ve killed so many demons over the years.”

“Our second year in Kirkwall was a Demon extravaganza. That’s true.” Carver closed his eyes, remembering the legions of undead on Sundermount. He shook his head, remembering the impossibly large eyes of a certain elf mage. He wondered how she was, but no longer was filled with the giddy heat of infatuation when he thought of Merrill. He had not thought of her in a long time, his attention firmly elsewhere. 

“Good times. Good times.” Marian uncorked the full bottle beside her. “Orlesians may be crazy, but their wine isn’t as bad as their clothes.”

“What an endorsement.” Carver smirked taking the bottle and gulped down some of the contents. “It’s not Antivan, but it will do.”

“It’s not Ritewine either, which how do you drink that swill? Is it to make the lady Wardens look cuter?”

“First, Marian, the lady Wardens who are attractive don’t need any help. They get all the attention they can handle, trust me. It doesn’t help to find out you’re side man number fifteen.” Carver polished off the bottle, handing the empty container back to Marian. 

Laughing, she produced another bottle and opened it, but this time she didn’t hand it to her brother. “How does anyone manage that many people? I can barely juggle Fenris’s Fenrisness. The three years where he dumped me and I was going through my ‘free spirit’ phase. I needed Bodan to keep a schedule for me, Isabela on Tuesdays, Anders never, the cute bartender at the Hanged Man on Thursday’s, he only lasted a month—“

“Dear Maker, Marian, shut up. I don’t want to know any of this, ever. Promise.” He was quiet for a moment. “Do you ever feel like all the battlefields eventually feel the same?”

“Oh, we’re being deep now. Sorry.” She paused. “Yes, strange isn’t?”

“Feels fitting, ultimately.” Carver decided. “We’ve been lucky. If I hadn’t come with you to the expedition, I would’ve joined the Templars. I probably would have taken the red Lyrium. I would’ve died in the avalanche created by the woman I’m now with. Lucky.”

“Luck is a fickle mistress.” Marian exhaled a long breath. Carver realized, for the first time, how alone she was after he became a Warden, and mother dying a few years after. Her sole responsibility was to take care of the family after Dad passed. Bethany and Mother were gone. He was avenging his sister’s loss with every Darkspawn he slayed. He wondered if his sister felt the same way about bloodmages she killed. 

Marian uncorked another bottle and handed it to her brother. “Here’s to every sorry ass who’s luck wasn’t as good as ours!”

Carver clinked the bottle against the one she held. It’s chime echoed the steel on steel from every battle he fought. “Toast them all!”

No longer was Carver on every battlefield he fought before, he was just sitting on some rocks with his sister under an Orlesian sky.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Word from Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niloofar finally receives a letter back from her cousin, Elias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short and sweet.

Dear Niloofar,

Let me begin with an apology, I do believe it has been a year since I last responded to your letters. Your survival at the Conclave warmed our hearts, but news of this new moniker has been quite concerning with Mother and Father. 

Mother fears you’re walking away from the Maker’s Grace, and Father can’t believe anyone would follow a Mage as a holy figure. I have given up seeing eye to eye with them about you. My wife cautions more patience, but with the girls and the estate, my hands are full. 

It pleases me to no end to hear of your courtship developments. I did not approve of you and that Templar, yes you are a mage but he came from no reputable family. Though your young lord is a Hawke, he is also an Amell. The Amells have been a respected house until recently. How does his nobility work with him being also a Grey Warden? I was always under the impression they were married to the order and could not take on distractions outside of their purpose. 

Things are difficult and tense in the Marches. Prince Sebastian is threatening military action throughout the region to restore order. Maybe now since you have your own ambassadors, you can request he stand down? The family business has shipments coming in through Kirkwall and it would trouble us greatly if there were more conflict. The estate can’t weather much more hardship this season.

Please keep me informed how the Peace Talks in Orlais progress. I never would have thought in five lifetimes, my little mage cousin attending a Ball as the guest of Duke Gaspard. You certainly keep better company than I. 

Love,

Elias

P.S. Is it too much to ask for an artist to send a portrait of you and this Hawke? 

P.P.S. Please let me know when you’re no longer a Trevelyan. It’s improper to remain in courtship too long. Mother raised you better than that.

P.P.P.S. You’re seeing much combat, please take care of yourself. I wish to attend wedding celebrations, not funerals.

P.P.P.P.S. Madeline, who is now five, wants to know if you can give her a unicorn. I’ve explained they aren’t real, but she refuses to believe me. She also wants you to take her with you the next time you go into the Fade so she can say hello to Walter, our late Mabari. I explained you would never step into the Fade again, it was a special gift from Andraste. Then she asked if you could tell Andraste hello for her. 

  
  
  



	13. Wicked Eyes and Restless Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niloofar Trevelyan has some time to herself after the events of the Peace Talks at the Winter Palace, Halamshiral. (Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts).

A chill hung in the air, Niloofar could feel it nipping at the tip of her nose. Her gloved hands gripped the decorative white railing protecting the balcony. Surveying the gardens below as she ruminated on the progression of the evening. 

Somehow, she managed to coerce Empress Celene, Briala and the Duke Gaspard to ally together and rule Orlais as a united force. In an unexpected turn of events, Niloofar gained the service of Celene’s personal Enchanter, the apostate Morrigan. Niloofar appreciated the mage’s company, as Morrigan represented much lost knowledge. After seeing how Venatori succeeded in infiltrating every corner of Thedas, the Inquisition needed all the assistance it could gather. 

Niloofar’s moment of reflection was disturbed by a familiar voice, greeting her. Turning around revealed the voice to be her Commander. She smiled, surprised for his company. In silence he took his place beside her and sighed.

“Inquisitor,” He began. “Thank you for your help earlier with the noblewomen. I was completely out of my element. Burning her fingers was a nice touch.”

She cracked a smile, she would never forget the look of horror on the former templar’s face as he was swarmed with the attention of the grabby women. “She was utterly disrespectful. This isn’t some tavern, it's a palace. You would think they would be on better behavior.”

Cullen let out a chuckle and shook his head. “I’m glad I’ve had the pleasure to meet you as the Inquisitor, and not a mage under my charge. That kind of behavior was dangerous in Kirkwall.”

“You just commended my actions in one breath, and disparaged them in the next.” Niloofar shrugged. She wished she could’ve had at least one dance with Carver before the night was over. She began to regret sending Carver and Marian to escort the wounded Vivienne to the estate the Inquisition was taking residence in while in the Dales. 

“I was a model Circle Mage, I’ll have you know. I was a Harrowing tutor, it was nice to have purpose.” Niloofar returned her thoughts to the present conversation. 

“Being the Herald of Andraste, The leader of the Inquisition isn’t enough purpose for you?” Cullen asked, he folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head, puzzled and coy.

“I miss the simplicity. I hate being needed all the time. I’m a free apostate and I was invited to the most important ball of the millenia and the only person I was able to dance with was Duchess Florian, who I later killed. I would very much like to attend a party without violence.” She looked up at the constellation lit sky, longing for a piece of quiet in the world. The anchor itched fiercely most of the time now. A small hollow welled behind her breastbone as her thoughts began to feel overwhelming.

“Oh,” Cullen replied and held out his hand. “I might not be named Hawke, but it would honor me if you would dance with me this once.” 

“I accept, Commander.” Niloofar took his hand and together they swayed and stepped in time to the music. Pulling her hand above her head, Cullen twirled her, the red velvet of her skirt flowed out in all directions, looking like flower petals. 

When the song ended Cullen bowed, “Thank you for the dance. I do believe the next one belongs to someone else.”

Whipping around, Niloofar laughed with joy at the sight of Carver. In a running skip, she rushed to his side. Without worry for leering eyes, he picked her up and twirled her around before setting her down and placing a hand on her waist and taking her right hand into his. 

The music was over, but they didn’t need an ensemble to keep time for them. For a moment in time, Niloofar wasn’t the Inquisitor, and Carver wasn’t a warden, they were just young and in love. 

After their dance concluded, they walked to the edge of the balcony overlooking the palatial grounds. Lit by the glow of oil lanterns, Niloofar looked up at Carver, seeing him with a halo of light around his head and glints of fire bouncing off the surface of his armor. 

“Thank you, and your sister, for taking care of Vivienne. I’ve never seen someone move as fast as the Harlequin.” Niloofar leaned into Carver as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“My sister is an expert healer, the mage will be fine.” He squeezed her, then spun her around, bringing her in for a kiss. Hungry and ugent.

“I love you, Carver.” Niloofar said, breathless. 

“When I heard a mage was injured, I was worried it was you, I knew they couldn’t risk saying anything happened to the Inquisitor, if it were you.” Carver’s lapis hued eyes softened in concern. He winced and reached for the balcony’s railing. 

Niloofar held him steady and placed her anchor marked hand against the side of his head. “The Calling again?”

He nodded, placing his hand over hers, sealing it against his head. His contorted face relaxed as she summoned some of the Fade’s energy creating a louder hum to combat the Song. Carver struggled more as each day passed. She saw the pain in Stroud’s face as well, the song eroded at the Wardens. Except Blackwall, he seemed unbothered by the False Calling. 

After a moment passed, Carver regained his composure and looked down and away before returning to meet her gaze.

“This was not how I wanted this moment to go,” he confessed. 

“We’re fine, let’s get out of here and back to the ridiculous chateau Josephine procured for the Inquisition-“

“Wait. Maker’s breath, don’t cock this up,” he whispered under his breath, it was obvious he was scolding himself. Niloofar waited, unsure of what troubled him.

“I can’t bear the thought of losing you, ever. The last six months have been the happiest of my life. You always hear me. You see me, and I feel like I matter. I know our lives are complicated. I know I’m a Grey Warden, and you’re the Inquisitor. Our future is murky at best, but if I know you’re there…” his voice trailed off as she watched his confidence erode.

“If you’re there, then it’s a future worth fighting for. I feel the same way about you. I never believed the Maker would have such mercy, as to find someone I could cherish so deeply.” She finished his thought, knowing the words before they came. 

He leaned in and kissed her and dropped down to one knee with her hand clasped in his. “Niloofar Trevelyan, would you make me the happiest man in Thedas by marrying me?”

“Yes! Carver, yes!” She jumped in excitement, stepping back on her skirt and stumbled, right into his arms.

They both erupted into a fit of laughter as they struggled to their feet. When their breath returned, they found themselves holding each other tightly. 

“How will you manage being my husband and a Grey Warden? Aren’t you bound to the order?” She asked, hating the question as she spoke it. 

“No oath can keep me from you. Besides, you’re the Herald of Andraste, who single-handedly brought the Orlesian Civil War to an end, might I add. I’m sure the Wardens can agree to some arrangement.” He rested his chin on her head. She never wanted the embrace to end.

Though futile, she tried to memorize everything of the moment: The smell of cold on the wind with early jasmine blossoms sweetening the air. The way the hard metal breastplate of Carver’s armor pressed into her rigid corset, as if they could fuse into a single being, and the world would melt away. 

“I’ll have Josephine put in a formal request to the Order when we find where they disappeared to.” Niloofar smiled. Knowing there was dangerous territory in their future made her hold him a tiny bit tighter. The future was uncertain, but at least she knew she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

  
  



End file.
